


Thread-bare and Forlorn

by Whathecheeze



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whathecheeze/pseuds/Whathecheeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between the time that The Prince decides he will get Beatrice and Benedict to fall in love, and the instance when they over hear the news in the gardens. Someone pulled a prank. Beatrice and Benedict are not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thread-bare and Forlorn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexigent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/gifts).



To say that their current predicament wasn't at the very least laughable to the entirety of Mecina would be something of a lie. It was, of course their present company's fault they were in such a fartuous position in the first place, for there stood Beatrice and Benedict in only the robes their own god had tailored for them on the day of their birth (which was to say nothing) with naught to cover them, but the baskets their garments were supposed to be laid in to begin with. 

The one looked on the other with shrewd discretion, swearing it was some trick of their comparative that their garments were suddenly, and inexplicably vanished without a trace. And not only that, but the costumes that were provided for the joyous program for today's entertainment. 

There was to have been a play. A tragedy of love and war, penned by Balthasar, who under protest was beseeched by Antonio to write it specifically to be played out by Beatrice and Benedict. After a lengthy bout of whining he finally came up with something he barely claimed to be worthy to wipe his rampallian with. He presented it to Antonio who declared it success of the highest caliber. 

Thus Beatrice and Benedict were put upon to play the roles, and the only two roles in the entirety of the skit. Costumes (Which still had yet to make themselves known) were made, and lines recited again and again until written to memory. A true and forlorn tragedy.  
Now a tragedy turned comedy, driven by the mirth in the crowd, and with Don Pedro and Don John watching as well. Oh the barbs of jests would never cease to pierce them while they lived and breathed in this life. 

Beatrice gave her bow, and made way to the back to fume and curse her ill fortune of Benedict. "Whips have no better lashing than that of his tongue with such meat for it to feast on." She huffed looking for anything to cover herself. "The crow will fall from the sky ere I hear the end of his 'wit'."

"The fault is yours in this lady disdain." Benedict growled stomping (as well as flesh of foot could provide) into the back where all manner of props lay. "Only one as you could conceive such a conniving and conceited plan." 

Beatrice would have crossed her arms and huffed, except the basket that provided her only protection would tumble to the ground giving Benedict something very different than that jests to feast on. "Have you noticed not that we seem to be of the same predicament my lord?" She sneered. "Would I, in all my infinite wisdom and grace have truly laid myself bare for all to see as well as you just to see you torn to the ground?"

Benedict waited but a lambs bleat before answering with a shout. "YES! We both know that is the truth of the matter. You would fall upon your own dagger if it meant any dissuasion of my character to my comrades in arms." 

"Even I would not stoop as low as you say." She parried stepping up to him, eyes alight with ire. "I am no snake on its belly to slither about in the mud."

"Ah, but you bare the same aire of temptation." Benedict muttered. "Lady I do not protest your claim, baring one point. Of whom else's company we reside in would be the instigator of such frivolities, for it bears no purpose but to embarrass and put us down? No lady, I say again it was you, there is no other reasoning fit for it. "

That hit the mark true. Beatrice with no care for her current state of undress any longer loosened her hold on the basket. Physical altercations were not something that had every come about from the heated words slung back and forth betwixt them, ere this day. Beatrice shoved Benedict with the force all her indignation could gather (which was at least enough to put Benedict's back to the wall) so she could stand before him. "Dare you to say such slanderous things to me when I tell you true it wasn't my cunning that devised this plot?"

Benedict was scarce prepared for such an onslaught, in his mind, but his mouth seemed more than ready to continue to wage the war. "I dare, lest you accuse me of the same." He said with a shrug. "I knoweth you well lady and I know your manner. You are waiting for me to make slip of my tongue before pinning this upon my brow and I will not rise to such eager occasion for you." 

She tittered at that, the laugh that drove Benedict to distraction more times than he would even admit standing before god on the Day of Judgment. Beatrice looked at the basket covering his nether’s and then back to his eyes. "I'm sure that's not the only thing failing to rise." She hissed. 

Benedict was of the general ilk of a lover, not a fighter, but his dear lady standing before him could snap the thread of his composure with a flick of her wit. It therefore seemed like an invisible hand that had grabbed Beatrice, and whirled her around until it was now her back pressed into the grain of the wood. "Is there no way to cease your snide tongue?" He growled before his mouth descended on her with a fire that would rival the iron forge. 

Beatrice's eyes widened with shock and awe as she felt Benedict's lips press upon her own. She stood as still as marble wrought from the Greeks hands. It took but a moment for her to realize that Benedict's lips were sealed to her own, before her hands were shoving against his broad chest. "How dare you kiss me." She hissed before she was upon him again, kissing him back, this time with as much fervor as all her frustrations had built. 

It was then Benedict's turn to pull away. "Well, how dare you kiss me back." He countered, before capturing claim to her mouth once again. 

Their hands began to roam now, with nails and harsh touch. Both gasped into the searing kiss, both pressed forward eager for more. (though if ever mentioned both would deny it fervently.)

Names were called between kisses. Each taking their turn to toss insults at the other, but never did they break apart until Beatrice heard her cousin's voice. With quick thinking Beatrice shoved Benedict behind a bale of hay, and snatched up the basket once again. 

Had any but hero found her, they would know the mark passion on her face, but hero was still unspoiled, an innocent flower in a world overgrown with thorns. "Cousin have I found you unwell? You look vexed." Hero blinked with the eyes of truth. 

"Well you may very well say I am vexed cousin." She answered still looking for her clothes. "My robes seem t-" Her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward seeing the garments she had long been seeking laying over a crate. "Where did those come from?" She said curiously. 

"They lain there when I came to seek you out cousin." Hero said shaking her head. "Are you certain you are well? And where is Benedict?" 

Beatrice blushed at the mention of her comparative's name. "Do you think me so wonton than I would allow him to see me in such a-a...state....as...as this." She said appearing to be kicking something rather hard. 

"I would not say such cousin, no." She looked to the hay bale and back to Beatrice. "I will leave you to dress then, unless you have need of me?"  
Benedict's mouth was on the back of her knee. "No...no. Thank you cousin, but I believe I can fare just fine without you. Get thee back to thine Claudio." She teased still squirming. 

Hero gave one last curious look and nodded, before making her way back from where she came. 

Benedict cackled from behind the hay and this time Beatrice's knee connected with his nose. "If ever you speak a breath of this to anyone, you will have no need of a basket when next you are unclad." She glowered flouncing away. 

"Oh! Oh it's to be like that then my lady." Benedict's voice dripped with sarcasm, as his nose dripped with blood. "I would rather be boiled in fat and left for the vultures than admit to sharing a kiss with you." He found his own clothes which quite suddenly had made their own appearance before stomping out informing all that there would indeed be no play. 

Beatrice went in the other direction and only stopped when she was far from the prying eyes of her family and friends to place her finger to her lips and remember the fiery taste of Benedict on her lips. "Forget and retain your sanity Beatrice." She scolded herself. "Lest you become ensnared in a trap that would not suit you. Especially not when the trapper is none other than he who cannot keep a moments pleasant company with you. Nay better to put away such thoughts." Though she knew in the night when her mind would not still, she would be hard pressed to not think of Benedict's lips pressed against her own.


End file.
